


The Lost Hours: A Study In Silence

by Elisheva_Nadir



Series: The Lost Hours [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisheva_Nadir/pseuds/Elisheva_Nadir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock convinces Mary to participate in his study so that he might better understand John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Initial Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> An addition to "The Lost Hours" series. A bit lengthier than the others and more or less in the middle of the two previous as far as time line goes.

         Mary ran both hands over her face as she stumbled in to the dark bedroom that was John's. It felt strange to be in his flat but John had said that Sherlock would be out for a number of days and, "wouldn't it be nice to spend time at my place?" which was really code for, "I don't want to pack another overnight bag." Mary smiled to herself, using the sparse light that came in from the hallway to find her day bag.

            John had been called in to the hospital, how he managed to keep the hospital job while running amuck with Sherlock was incredible, and would be in an hour from then. It gave Mary plenty of time to strip down to just her knickers, put some lotion on her skin, grab one of John's button-ups to sleep in and sit on the edge of the bed, still in the dark.

            "Either you're slipping up or I'm catching on," Mary said, turning her head to the left to see Sherlock sitting quietly in the corner chair. He had his elbows settled on the armrests and was gently touching the tips of his fingers to his lips. Mary could barely make his shape out but he was there.

            "I never _slip up_ ," Sherlock said, his voice quiet but brooking no argument. "Perhaps John has been teaching you my methods, however fruitless that will prove." Mary cocked one blonde brow at Sherlock.

            "Fruitless?" She asked, feeling another argument start. Upon her first introduction to Sherlock he had told John that they'd all ready met and that her name was Samantha, a rather cocksure smile on his lips. John had sputtered, trying to rectify the situation and keep his dating history a secret. The second time they'd met Sherlock called her Nancy, once again causing John to sputter but from then on Sherlock had developed a steady dislike for Mary.

            "Yes. John has a thirty-seven percent rate of sustaining a relationship past three weeks." Mary smiled to herself, they'd been dating for three months now. "The odds after three weeks drops dramatically." That last bit sounded a bit smug and Mary didn't like it.

            "So do you enjoy watching unsuspecting women change or is this a new habit, one that's suppose to alienate me even further?" Mary asked, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at Sherlock.

            "Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed. "I was merely observing and you became aware of my presence after a time."

            "Was that before or after you saw my tits?" Mary asked, wanting to find some way to make Sherlock uncomfortable or at the very least apologetic. He was a special one but she didn't go around flashing men for the hell of it.

            "You walked in to the room, tired from your day at university, obviously your students are grating on your nerves, that much is clear, and you proceeded to undress as you usually do but when you turned your back to the corner you hesitated just a fraction of a second. No woman who is use to disrobing in her bedroom or the bedroom of her partner turns around to remove her bra. If anything it is innate to keep your back to the door until your breasts are once more covered but you turned to the open door. I would have believed you had merely been cautious about undressing because you feared my early return but you continued to keep your back to me as you applied your lotion. Now the question is not whether or not I saw your _tits_ —I did—but why you continued to disrobe in front of me, knowing that I was here. You are not polyandrous, that much is ascertainable by the fact that John is your first partner in two years, you have no previous history of exhibitionism or the present interest in it and you are not sexually interested in me. Perhaps you wanted to test the moment to see who would break first or that you were hoping I would out myself. Perhaps you were indulging in a momentary wicked streak. The likelihood though is that you recognized it was me in the room, understood there was no inherent danger, that it does not bother you to be naked in front of me because you do not view me as a potential sexual partner or threat and that it was pointless to have hysterics about the situation." Mary felt she was frowning more intensely at Sherlock. That smug bastard. This was perhaps the longest time she'd ever been in Sherlock's presence and it was the first time in which John hadn't been there to mitigate any potential disasters. It was a wonder John and Sherlock didn't come to blows more often.

            "Well, you're here for a reason. Do tell," Mary said, trying not to sound as grumpy as she felt. If he wanted John for a case he would have texted him and if John had ignored the texts Sherlock would have started barraging Mary about texting John.

            "You were planning on being intimate with John tonight," Sherlock said, voice still low and calm, the sound of reason. He said it like a fact. And Mary was glad for the darkness because it hid her blush that yes, she had had every intention of having sex with John as soon as she could get him in bed. "Now you are no longer inclined to do that and will turn John down at every possible turn, embarrassed that someone else knows what you were going to engage in. Even if John kicks me out you won't relent and you especially will not be comforted by the fact that it will not bother me if I can hear you or if I am away. I am asking you, no, I am telling you to continue as you were."

            "What?" Mary asked, not sure if she was more shocked, repulsed or in utter disbelief over Sherlock.

            "Mary, don't be tedious. I have all ready explained myself." Mary began to shake her head no, this was just bizarre.

            "Sherlock, I am _not_ ,"

            "Mary Morstan you will do this thing because it is illogical not to. You were prepared, looking forward to actually, being intimate with John and presently there is nothing impeding you from your goal. Nothing except your own morals." Mary rose to her feet, pacing, feeling Sherlock's practical gaze tracking her every move.

            "And why should I do this _thing_?" Mary asked. "You're not here just to give me permission to fuck John. I don’t need that. You're here because…" Mary tapped her foot lightly on the rug, feeling the plushness rush to meet her toes on every downward tap.

            "I am curious," Sherlock said, shifting for the first time and angling one leg out. Mary stared at the dark brown shoe and trousers clad leg, the most defined part of his shadowed figure.

            "Enlighten me," Mary said dryly.

            "I am curious as to why our dear John insists on continuing a relationship with you even though everyone, myself included, knows that your relationship will end prematurely. Among an array of reasons why John would want to stay with you I have come to the conclusion that you provide outstanding bedroom services. John, for some reason, has been obstinate and will not indulge information of your activities unlike past partners. I wish to observe." Mary was never one to gasp dramatically, use an abundance of "um's" or "ah's" but in that moment she sputtered as she tried to grasp what to say.

            "What… how… excuse me?"

            "There is nothing to pardon you from," Sherlock responded.

            "I know that!" Mary snapped, taking a threatening step toward Sherlock even though it was an empty threat. She stood taller than John but Sherlock stood even taller than her and was a good deal stronger.

            "John is planning on proposing to you, did you know that?"

            "No." _Yes_.       

            "Liar."

            "What's your point?"

            Sherlock shifted, as if he meant to rise up to his feet but he didn't and it drew Mary closer to him, further in to the dark little corner.

            "We both know your marriage will not last," Sherlock began.

            "How can you know that?"

            "It is inevitable, if you would simply open yourself up to,"

            "Stop it," Mary said quietly but firmly enough to give Sherlock pause. For the last couple of weeks Mary had been suspicious that John was going to propose to her and this only confirmed it. And while she loved John, loved him more than any other man that had been in her life, she couldn't help this terrible feeling that it was all going to be taken away from her. There would be a moment of happiness, an indeterminate length of happiness really, but it would go away.

            "You know it. You've always known it."

            "So I'm just suppose to indulge you? Don't I matter in this? You're curious about why John is going to go head first in to disaster and all you plan to do is _observe_. Sherlock, what aren't you telling me here because this just sounds like a thinly veiled attempt at voyeurism." Sherlock shifted again, Mary stepped closer and the silence pressed in on them. She had always suspected some complicated relationship between Sherlock and John, something that went past merely friendship and toed the line past platonic. Mary had hinted at it, wondering why Sherlock never showed an interest in anyone, and John had fervently stamped down on any romantic link between the two. But Mary had seen the looks on John's face as he talked about Sherlock and thought no one was looking. There _had_ to be something there to explain the childish possessiveness that Sherlock had of John.

            "You will do this because you love John and to hurt me is to hurt John and your love for him keeps you from wanting to do that."

            "Sherlock, this is ridiculous. If this is just an experiment to satisfy some sick,"

            "You're receptive to the idea of it now," Sherlock said, interrupting her.

            "I said no such thing," Mary protested.

            "You're calm about this, you're not pacing, you haven't threatened me to leave. You haven't given a definitive answer that you won't allow this since I initially proposed the idea. The suggestion is there, you've been thinking it over and you know that if John were to remain completely unaware you would go through with it." Mary started to shake her head no and then felt herself doubting the truth in that.

            "You're manipulating me," Mary said.           

            "I am giving you sound logic,"

            "Piss off," Mary snapped and startled as Sherlock surged to his feet, their bodies coming within inches of each other. Mary tipped her head back, looking up at Sherlock and could just make out his blue eyes. They always seemed to cut straight through a person, as if Sherlock used his eyes the same way a doctor would carefully use a scalpel.

            "I am unwilling to divulge the entirety of why I want this," Sherlock said, still quiet, still sounding so bloody reasonable with that hint of impatience as if he were tired of waiting for everyone to catch up.

            "And maybe I don't feel like cooperating," Mary said softly, the heat all but gone from her words. It seemed cloyingly intimate to be talking to Sherlock in the dark like this.

            "You will do this," Sherlock insisted.

            "You love him, don't you? And it upsets you that I'm taking him away, that you think I'll hurt him in the end and you'll have to pick up the pieces. You want to stir up doubt in him… about me." Sherlock didn't respond right off and Mary was almost willing to bet a hefty sum that she was right on the nose but Sherlock was Sherlock. He chose to answer when he wanted to.

            "You have precisely eight more minutes before John arrives. Even if my intention is not to _stir up doubt_ it will be suspicious to him. Why would I be here? Why would you stand here virtually naked? In the dark? So close?"

            "He trusts you too much to think like that," Mary said.

            "But does he trust _you_?" As if she'd been slapped, Mary jerked back, stumbling until the back of her knees hit the bed and she sat down, hard.

            "Of course he does. He's planning on marrying me." Mary could see the outline of Sherlock's shoulders as they hitched up and then eased down, a shrug. Now _that_ was certainly meant to stir up doubt.

            "Five minutes," Sherlock said quietly and resumed his seat. Mary sat there, staring at her lap, the scent of laundry soap and the barest hint of John's cologne coming from the button-up she wore.

            There was no reason for her to sit there so passively. Absolutely none. As soon as John came in she was going to confront the pair. She was going to reprimand Sherlock in front of John then tell John that they had unresolved issues between them and Mary was going to sit in front of the television and wait for the men to solve themselves out. That was exactly what she was going to do.


	2. I Deduce A Reaction

"Five minutes," Sherlock said quietly and resumed his seat. Mary sat there, staring at her lap, the scent of laundry soap and the barest hint of John's cologne coming from the button-up she wore.

            There was no reason for her to sit there so passively. Absolutely none. As soon as John came in she was going to confront the pair. She was going to reprimand Sherlock in front of John then tell John that they had unresolved issues between them and Mary was going to sit in front of the television and wait for the men to solve themselves out. That was exactly what she was going to do.

            "Mary?" Came John's tired voice. Mary tensed, looking over her shoulder at the looming figure of John in the doorway.

            "You're back," Mary said and was almost startled by the breathy way her voice sounded. As if she had been thinking very wicked thoughts.

            "Not a moment too soon," John said, taking his jacket off and dropping it on the floor. Mary turned around on the bed and crawled the short distance across it, meeting John at the edge. His hands immediately went to her waist and Mary found herself curling her fingers around his shoulders. "I hope you weren't waiting too long," John whispered against her ear, going to kiss her cheek before he briefly touched his lips to hers.

            "I," Mary said, pausing. She bit her lower lip and couldn't help but let her gaze travel to the light switch by the door. Why hadn't she turned it on? Why hadn't John? It would have solved so many things.

            "Don't worry," John said, smoothing a hand through Mary's hair, gently tangling his fingers in the blonde locks for a moment. "He's not here." Mary gave a small smile and found that no matter how hard she tried she couldn't look in to the corner where Sherlock was.

            "Maybe we shouldn't," Mary whispered, moving her hands so that her palms rested against his chest. 

            "Oh, I think we should," John said, a smile sitting on his lips as his hands went to her waist once more and began to ruck her shirt up. "In fact, let me convince you of how much we _should_." Mary gasped as John quickly pressed her back, his hands hot against her skin as he pushed her shirt up and up until the only option was to raise her arms and let him take it off.

            "J-John," Mary stuttered, feeling her heart slam in her chest. Good God, Sherlock was right _there_.

            "The door?" He asked, leaning down to kiss her above her navel. "I've got it," he said and leapt up, closing it and ditching his jumper in the process before resting above Mary once more. The room was plunged in total darkness for a moment and all Mary could focus on was the feel of John's hands as they smoothed up her legs and the sound of her own gentle moans as John started to kiss his way from her knee to her knickers.

            "I think that maybe," Mary started to say but cut herself off, biting her lip as John pressed an open mouthed kiss to her crotch. Her whole body shuddered and John made quick work of her knickers, making them disappear just as quickly as the shirt had.

            "You're right, those had to go," John said, the smile he probably wore clearly visible in his voice. Mary stopped thinking for a moment as John's lips touched her again, his tongue soothing her bare skin before delving to find her clit. At the first electric touch Mary let out a half-cry, her hand flying to cover her mouth to keep the sound in. John simply chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as he used his whole mouth to tease her. He licked slow and long, used his lips to suckle against her and when he slipped a finger inside of her and curled it, a shudder so strong went through Mary that she nearly thought she'd come.

            "You're being quiet tonight," John husked, his hands slipping to cup her bottom to raise her hips to meet him. "I told you we don't have to worry."

            "John, I,"

            "Scream for me, Mary," John whispered and pressed his lips against her once more, the onslaught almost too much for Mary as he kissed and sucked and gently scrapped his teeth against her. Mary writhed along the bed, alternating between clutching the sheets and keeping a hand over her mouth to muffle her moans and cries but it only lasted through the first orgasm because as soon as Mary came down from her first climax, John began to thrust his tongue inside of her, his tongue nearly matching the beat of her heart as it throbbed.

            The first real moan felt decadent but Mary held the second one in. When John groaned against her and hefted her hips higher, keeping most of her weight on her shoulders, Mary found she was in a losing battle. She let out a soft keen and found her hands digging in to his hair, urging him to thrust his tongue in to her harder, fucking her with it.

            "Yes, John, yes," Mary whispered, flinging her head back as another orgasm started deep within her, unfurling outward and throbbing along every inch of her skin until she was curling her toes with it and letting out unintelligible sounds of pleasure, her thighs nearly gripping John's face to keep him against her.

            She knew John liked it when she got a little more aggressive and he loved it when she screamed and moaned loudly but it seemed he was insatiable because Mary barely had a moment to gain her bearings before John was assailing her once more, two thick fingers sliding deep inside her.

            "John, I can't," Mary said on a moan, her whole body bowing upward as if she were trying to break away from John's demanding mouth and yet stay there. He groaned again, his arms wrapping around her thighs as he placed her knees over his shoulders. John had removed his fingers, relying on his mouth to tease her in to a frenzy again and it was working because Mary wasn't even thinking of smothering her moans. Her cries of desire as John pushed her to a third climax. It was too much though. Too soon. And Mary alternated between begging him to stop and telling him not to.

            She was panting, hands firmly gripping the sheets as she tried to pull away from John but he followed, moving to press her hips firmly in to the mattress so that the only escape was to move up to his mouth. Mary felt as if her skin was on fire, that everything she touched was too hot and the hottest part burned where John had his mouth. In a blind moment of utter panic, Mary thrashed, grabbing the closest pillow and screamed in to it as she climaxed. Her whole body felt as if it had become liquid, heat suffusing every last molecule until she was just a throbbing mess, weakly clutching an abused pillow.

            Distantly, Mary heard John chuckle and the sound of his trousers hitting the floor before she felt him crawl over her, pushing the pillow aside.

            "Now the neighbors _definitely_ heard that one," John said, still laughing a bit. Mary gave a lazy smile and sluggishly drew her hand up to smooth it across John's chest.

            "You're terrible," Mary said, trying to pout but unable to help the smile still sitting happily across her lips.

            "You mean terribly good," John quipped, leaning down to kiss her.

            "Now you're puns are _terrible_ ," Mary said between kisses. When John groaned though, using one knee to part her thighs and settle between them, the reality of what was happening came crashing down. Wrapping a thigh around his hip and an arm around his neck, Mary flipped them so that they laid diagonal on the bed. There was no danger of John seeing Sherlock now and for some reason Mary couldn't bear to have Sherlock watch John. That was too personal a thing to watch.

            John tensed under Mary, his hands gripping her waist firmly and his face suddenly drawn in to a deep frown. It was the same sort of frown when John reached for a gun that no longer rode on his hip. When he reflexively reached to defend himself.

            "Shh," Mary hushed him, running her hands from his abdomen up to his chest, smoothing the skin there before retreating back down. She did that a handful of times, wanting to lean down and kiss him but knowing it was smarter not to. His hands didn't grip her waist as tightly anymore and he was slowly relaxing.

            "I'm sorry John," Mary apologized quietly, slowly shifting so that she straddled his hips, it seemed that the burst of adrenaline made him even harder and all she had to do was gently sink down on him, his cock filling her completely. They groaned almost in unison and Mary found herself closing her eyes, head tilted to the side as she tried to adjust to his size. John had never felt so big inside of her before. It was as if he had become inches wider.

            John's sharp bark of laughter brought Mary out of her momentary stupor and a blush spread across her cheeks, she must have muttered something aloud to the train of her thoughts.

            "I don't think I can come up with something quite as… poetic," John said, his whole body gently shaking as he continued to keep from laughing.

            "You should be flattered," Mary said, pretending to sound sour even as she smiled.

            "Oh, I am very flattered," John said, his fingers lightly dancing along her sides to tickle her ribs. "Quite a bit actually." Mary tried to shift away from his hands, giggling of all things and gently panting.

            "Don't you dare start in on that," Mary threatened between bits of laughter. No matter how she twisted John's hands were there and she could feel how each laugh tightened muscles low in her body. That sneaky little bastard.

            "Start in on what?" John asked. Mary grabbed one of his hands and used it as leverage to help raise her hips up as she tightened every possible muscle she could to squeeze John's cock. That stopped all conversation for a while as John let out a sound that wasn't quite a word or a groan and his head dropped back to bounce against the mattress. He cursed something foul as Mary slowly sunk back down and his hands that had been intent on tickling her were now glued to her hips.

            "Please, Mary, whatever that was, do it again," John begged hoarsely, an almost pained expression creasing his brow. Mary thought to tease him with it, ask him exactly what it was he wanted but she became conscious of Sherlock again, his shadowed form catching her peripheral vision for the barest of seconds. Instead, she focused on tightening herself around him once more as she gently drew herself up.

            They were quiet, their soft pants the only sound in the room as Mary focused on riding John. The slow glide of flesh against flesh was too lingering though and John urged Mary to go faster after a time, using his hands to help her thrust down harder and harder until it was a fierce rocking motion. Mary slid her knees further apart, sinking even deeper until she had to place her hands on John's chest to help balance her. She could feel him brush spots inside of her that felt as if they'd never been touched and with a startled cry, Mary realized that she was almost to the point of climaxing again. Maybe she _was_ a bit of an exhibitionist.

            Mary cursed, fully panting now and was going to beg John not to do what he was about to do but the instant his thumb brushed against her clit the oversensitive bit of flesh sent a bolt of electricity through her body it seemed and she tensed as if she were one solid piece of muscle. The next solid thrust upward of John's hips nearly shattered her and the sob that came from Mary was more of a scream as she climaxed, hard, collapsing over John. She was still coming down from the intense orgasm as John rolled them over, bracing himself on one arm as his free hand gripped her hip so he could slam in to her two, three, four times; burying his face in to the crook of her neck as he came.

            John's whole body shivered and Mary could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest as he groaned unreservedly, his hips still thrusting, riding out the last of his climax. He slowly lowered himself on top of her and Mary found herself smiling once more. John was not comfortable lying on top of her post climax and Mary knew it was because he felt he was too heavy but he wasn't. Not to Mary. She loved the press of his body lying against her, the weight of him bearing down on her so that she was trapped between John's body and the bed. Besides, she wasn't some wilting flower or china doll.

            "Am I hurting you?" John asked, his voice hoarse. Even if he was Mary wouldn't tell him, the poor man felt as limp as a noodle.

            "Never," Mary whispered, moving her head to gently kiss his hair.

            "Good," John muttered, shifting ever so slightly. Mary spread her thighs a little more apart, trying to accommodate him but that sunk John's cock further inside of her and instead of feeling him slowly grow smaller he seemed to stiffen.

            "John, you can't be serious," Mary said, her arms still wrapped around him. "What did you eat?" Mary felt her body protest a bit and the not so subtle wiggling of her hips did nothing but increase the feel of him hardening inside of her.

            "Nothing, I swear," John groaned, one arm coming up to steady himself as his hips started to nudge hers. This time it was quick and fierce, over before it started and John collapsed to his side, an arm blindly reaching behind him to halfheartedly wrap the blanket around them. Mary felt like one giant nerve ending, her skin throbbed, her heart didn't beat it throbbed and the space between her thighs felt like a second heartbeat keeping in time with the one in her chest.

            "You are not touching me for at least eight hours," Mary threatened weakly but John merely grunted in response, all ready asleep and breathing deeply. Mary waited a handful of minutes, caught between wanting to fall asleep and needing to stay awake. When she was absolutely sure John wouldn't wake, Mary carefully detached herself from his arms, sliding to the edge of the bed and pausing a moment to use a serviette to clean the mess from between her thighs. Grabbing her knickers, Mary slipped them back on before approaching Sherlock.

            "Get out," She said quietly.

            "I was right," Sherlock said just as quietly.

            "Get out, right now, or I will wake John up." Mary didn't need to hear Sherlock's rabble for the both of them to know that she was deadly serious this time around. _She_ was the one who brooked no argument.

            "You held back," Sherlock said, rising to his feet. Mary could make out his sharp cheekbones, the soft gleam of his eyes, the deep purple of his button-up. It seemed so painfully obvious that he had been in the room but John hadn't known and Mary prayed that he would never know.

            "John doesn't deserve to be spied on like that," Mary said, a little louder than she liked to.

            "He'll understand," Sherlock insisted.

            "This is never happening again. _Never_. You had your fun and now it's over." Mary turned her back then, going to the chest by the window that held extra blankets to dig one out. When she turned back to the bed Sherlock was gone, the door never making a sound as it was opened and closed.

            Mary gently pulled the blanket back from John, spread the new one over the top of them and took a pillow from the headboard to cuddle with as she snuggled against John, hunkering down to sleep.

            As she drifted to sleep she wondered if John would secretly be okay with Sherlock spying on them. If he thought that he was the only one that knew that it would be all right. Or maybe there would be the initial anger followed by a slow acceptance. If Mary's gut feeling was right, she really wouldn't be around long enough to pull John away from Sherlock. He would always love Sherlock but it would become a brotherly love, one that quietly reflected on the seemingly taboo love that he had had before. But for now, all three hung on the precipice that was not averse to adding Sherlock in to the equation and Mary loved John enough to allow it. It would be a rocky road, filled with squabbles and moments of self doubt but it would be theirs.


	3. The Glaringly Obvious Conclusion

          "Mary," John murmured, kissing her on the neck. Mary woke, groggily, feeling both sore and relaxed. "You sleep like the dead," John said, moving to kiss her cheek.

            "Me? You didn't even realize I got a different blanket," Mary said and slid her body against John's, loving the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest.

            John pressed his lips to her ear, wrapping his arms around her so that she rolled on top of him. "I bet I could have been hilt deep inside of you and you wouldn't have woken up until you climaxed," John husked, causing Mary to shiver and writhe above him.

            "Promises, promises," Mary panted, moving to straddle him. There was the faintest twinge as his cock slid home but Mary gathered the blankets about her waist and gently began to rock. The slightest motion of the door opening caught her eye and Mary gasped, flinging the blankets over John's face.

            "Mary?" John asked, moving to push the blankets aside.

            "John, no, I have morning hair, you can't look until I've showered."

            "Mary, don't be ridiculous, I just,"

            "Okay, I'm going to shower then," Mary said, stopping the gentle rocking motion but John's hands shot to her hips, keeping her there. "That's what I thought," she murmured as the door swung silently open. Mary turned her head to stare in to Sherlock's blue gaze and a shiver of almost revulsion passed through her. John took it differently and he urged her to start riding him harder.

            Mary closed her eyes, faced forward and tried to ignore Sherlock. It had been so much easier in the dark, when she was unable to see his face and know for certain that he was there. She focused on the roll of her hips, the sensation of John's callused fingers touching the soft flesh of her sides, the way the sparse hair of his thighs slid against her own, how it felt when his cock was thrust up to meet her. All she had to do was let go. And is if mimicking Sherlock's sentiment from in the night, John begged Mary, "Don't hold back."

            Tilting her head back and clasping both of John's hands in her own, Mary rocked faster, moaning and telling John, "Harder, harder!" And when the moment came, when that pulse inside Mary built to such a staccato she thought she'd pass out from it, she screamed John's name. She felt John release inside of her seconds later and it felt as if all her muscles had become loose as she wavered above John, trying to clear the pleasant fog from her brain.

            "Can I look at you now?" John asked, his voice gruff but pleased sounding.

            "No," Mary murmured and flung the blankets open, leaning down to kiss him fiercely for a moment before covering him up once more. "I'm going to shower and you are not allowed in. Now go make me breakfast," Mary said, lightly raking her nails along his stomach before bounding off the bed, scooping up her knickers that had magically disappeared during the night as well as John's jumper.

            Sherlock's gaze was a tangible thing as Mary ushered him in to the bathroom, closing the door and quickly turning on the shower, fighting back a scream as the cold water hit her.

            "I don't want to hear a word," Mary growled, quickly wetting her hair so she could shampoo it.

            "I find this even more compromising than,"

            "Just shut up!" Mary snapped, ripping the shower curtain open enough to glare at Sherlock. "Whatever game this is, I don't want to play anymore. I felt _sorry_ for you. Do you understand that? _Sorry_. It's over and you better find a great excuse to be in this house." Mary flung the curtain closed and attacked her hair, wincing as a bit of shampoo got in her eye.         

            "I do not think you feel sorry, Mary, you feel,"

            "Don't tell me how I feel, Sherlock," Mary said, his name coming out like a hiss. "I'm aware I'm a hypocrite but I can't keep doing this. You need to tell John you love him." Mary snatched up the bar of soap sitting in its dish and dragged it across her body, scrubbing at her skin furiously.

            "Mary, don't be so trivial, I was,"

            "My God," Mary said, interrupting him as she let the bar of soap thud to the bottom of the tub, ripping open the shower curtain once more. "You're dumbfounded," she declared.

            "I highly disagree with that sentiment," Sherlock said, bristling. He was still in his clothes from last night and didn't even have the wherewithal to look wrinkled.

            "No, you're flabbergasted that John loves me. You've gone through all the different scenarios and still can't figure out why he hasn't sabotaged himself… oh trust me, a serial dater like John tends to self destruct no matter how hard they try… but I'm the one that stuck."

            "The irrationality of John's,"

            "Sherlock," Mary snapped. "Stop being a prick and just be happy for John."

            "Insults are hardly worthy banter but if you insist on mincing words… then _fine_. I have posed different questions, comparing your attributes to the ones someone like John would find affable enough to want to marry. While you are educated you don't possess nearly the intellectual breadth that I have achieved therefore ruling out academic awe. Your chosen profession is not the same as John's and therefore there is no bond over that. He finds you funny but it is not your most redeeming quality and the other superficial characteristics you have are not enough to warrant such deep attachment so quickly. You are attractive but not more so than past partners and the intimacies you share with John are pleasant but relationships built on the physical aspects are proven to fail. If he is looking for a partner that would enact the traditional roles of wife you are not an outstanding cook or housekeeper. John has no need for you to be an exemplary hostess in order to further his career. You exhibit the absolute basic mothering habits that a man looking for a wife and family would want yet you do not press him for marriage or subtly slip in the talk of children leaving one to suspect you are not prepared to 'settle down'. You take a grudging interest in the work he does with me but dislike me, his closest friend, intensely. Your political, religious and social views are never at odds or in sync as neither of you feel strongly one way or the other. You disapprove of John being armed but won't tell him even though he has guessed as much and feels disgruntled by this. There is no pre-history amongst you such as childhood sweethearts that would indicate a nostalgic attraction and you are both prone to bouts of independence, spelling disaster for a long term relationship. The fact that John is planning on proposing to you after only three months implies a desperate need for security rather than love considering his prolific dating history. Have I missed anything?"

            Mary felt the water beat against her shoulder and back, the rivulets of water streaming down her body. It was Sherlock. He didn't mean it intentionally. It was just how he functioned. But the harder Mary tried to convince herself that she shouldn't be upset by his longwinded mouth the harder it was to keep her eyes from welling up.

            "You forgot about the part where my father died when I was young and I now have a very sizable inheritance," Mary said quietly, pulling the curtain closed.

            "Is the point of insults not to cause the other pain? Have I not done this correctly?" Sherlock asked, pulling the curtain aside to stare down at Mary. "I have made you cry," He stated and it wasn't meant to be gloating or for Sherlock to feel smug, it was a fact. She was crying.

            "Please get me a towel," Mary said, bending to turn the shower off. She could feel his gaze race over her, his mind awhirl with all sorts of things no doubt.

            "Why are you crying?" Mary shouldered past Sherlock and grabbed a towel for herself, patting her skin dry before wrapping it around her body and then grabbing a second towel to wrap around her hair.

            "Leave it alone," Mary said, swallowing thickly as she pulled her knickers on. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. John was sure to notice her mood the instance she walked in to the kitchen. She had to pull it together.

            "Are you crying because I stated the obvious or because,"

            "I said leave it alone!" Mary snarled, her hand striking out to snatch a fistful of his shirt and yanking him close so that they were all but nose to nose. "What you can't see even in your infinite wisdom is that the more you meddle, the more you try to unravel everything the worse you make it." Mary released Sherlock, shoving him away and raced back to John's room, tugging the jumper on and grabbing up her jeans.

            By the time she made it to the landing and in to the kitchen she had plastered a fake smile on to her face and was greeted to John standing in a pair of pyjama bottoms, two plates of toast and eggs laid out on the crowded kitchen table.

            "Christ! Mary! You weren't suppose to be down yet," John said, scrambling to thunk a glass of orange juice down before digging in to the pocket of his pyjamas. "I had the whole thing planned out," He said breathlessly, sinking down to one knee. Mary felt the smile on her face fall. "There was even witty banter." John smiled up at Mary, his hands clasped around each other as he held them up.

            "Mary Morstan," John said, clearing his throat and slowly opening his hands. "Will you marry me?" Mary felt more than knew that her jaw was hanging agape and she must have stood there for longer than comfortable because John's smile started to falter. "M-Mary?" John stuttered, the skin around his eyes starting to strain from his now forced smile.

            In a rush Mary started to sob and flung herself at John, tackling him to the floor, knocking the ring and its box aside in the process by accident. She clung to him, kissing every inch of him she could and managed to get the word, "Yes, yes, yes!" out between sobs.

            "John? What have you done to her?" Mary gasped, turning her head sharply over her shoulder to look up at Sherlock. He stood in the doorway, his coat still on and the collar drawn up like he had just come from being outside.

            "I asked her to marry me," John said triumphantly, hugging Mary closer.

            "Felicitations," Sherlock said, a polite smile on his lips. John started to kiss Mary back, murmuring something in to her ear but Mary heard none of it, all she could focus on was the thunderous look in Sherlock's eyes. "Are they suppose to cry quite so much?" Sherlock asked. Mary was still crying and she knew she probably looked horrible with uncombed wet hair and red eyes but she felt inexplicably happy.

            "They're tears of happiness," John said. "Right, Mary?" Mary nodded her head, kissing his chin, the spot behind his ear, his cheek, his nose, his lips. They were more than tears of happiness, they were incomprehensible joy and the sensation in her chest, the one that nearly hurt in its rawness made her cry afresh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends this vignette... for now that is. Hope you enjoyed :)


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